


Spaghetti

by SatsunonSavior



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, F/F, Fantasizing, Feelings, Hangover, Hook-Up, Lesbian Sex, Multiple Orgasms, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Prequel, Revelations, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8372854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatsunonSavior/pseuds/SatsunonSavior
Summary: 'Spaghetti Girl' (Noun): A nominally straight girl who quickly proves herself to be bisexual once things get hot and wet.Lena finds one, and has a very informative one-night stand.Set an indeterminate time before Alive.





	

“Oh my god, your accent is just…so fucking sexy,” the girl said, for what felt like the hundredth time. Tracer giggled and fumbled with her keys, swearing under her breath.

“C’mon, fucking bastard door, let me the fuck in- Ah!” she cheered drunkenly as the lock clicked, and the pair of them almost fell into the hotel room, nearly ending up in a tangled heap on the cheap carpet.

Tracer caught herself on the doorframe and wrapped an arm round the girl’s waist, swinging them vertiginously around. The almost balletic maneuver ended with the door closed and the girl pressed up against it, pinned between it and Tracer, their bodies caught together pleasingly. The girl let out a high pitched squeal and slung her arms around Tracer’s shoulders.

“Wooo!” she exclaimed, “It’s like a theme park!”

Tracer guffawed. _Oh dear god, she was way too drunk for this shit._ The girl’s California, valley-girl accent had been a turn-on back at the bar, but on the walk home it had turned grating and now all she really wanted was for her companion to shut the hell up. Therefore it was annoyance rather than passion that guided her mouth firmly into the girl’s, but the reaction was the same- a pleased _‘mmmph!’_ and a vigorous, if clumsy, response.

Tracer pulled back a little, letting her teeth nip at the girl’s lip, wrinkling her nose. The girl’s lips tasted like the sticky, sugary cocktails she’d been drinking- all passion fruit and candy-floss and other too-sweet flavors. Her attitude soured further, but she didn’t stop kissing her. So what if she’d had a few drinks? Tracer had had a few drinks too! She’d had a couple of beers, then she’d swapped to cider. She felt as if there had been shots at some point. Had they done shots?

_Oh Christ she was drunk._

She let out a groan that she hoped sounded sensual and not horrified as the realization sunk in.

_Oh Jesus-fucking-Christ she was drunk and she’d taken a girl home._

She’d forgotten all the rules she had set up, all the lines about ‘no entanglements’, ‘no one-night stands’ and most bloody importantly _‘no bloody fucking straight girls’._

Outside of her debating mind, she pushed her knee up between the girl’s legs, to obvious and annoyingly vocal enthusiasm. Her hands made their way over bare skin, sliding to the small of her back, beneath the ludicrously small crop-top the girl was wearing. Likewise, her leg was pushing up the little black skirt her ‘date’ had on, far more suited to the scorching Spanish night than Tracer’s own jeans and t-shirt. They were a study in contrasts, really- Tracer’s casual dress and dark hair against the American’s artfully curled blonde locks and clothes that could either be described as ‘confident’ or ‘slutty’ depending on just how sex-positive you wanted to get.

She hadn’t been dressed up of course, because she wasn’t supposed to be looking for this kind of…entertainment. But the girl had taken up a seat at her little booth, introduced herself with a breathless ‘Oh my god, are you like, English?’, and things had gone quite swimmingly until right about now. She had a decision to make in the next minute or two, but she was putting it off. She grabbed a handful of the girl’s rather plump backside and squeezed it approvingly. _Definitely need to make a decision soon._ She had a pair of choices, both with their own downsides.

One; she could push herself to arms’ length, tell the girl straight-out that she was too drunk, that she was emotionally involved, that she wasn’t really gay, that she had a boyfriend- any lie that would get her out of her room and out of her life.

Or two; she could keep squeezing the girl’s ass like it owed her money and fuck her completely senseless. Option two was sounding pretty good.

It would keep sounding good right until the morning after. She knew that.

Logic warred with hormones, until the girl broke the kiss and moaned-

“God, I’m so fucking wet!”

Tracer’s heartbeat thrummed between her legs.

_Option two it is, then!_

 

She grinned, using the time to catch her breath. She pulled back a little, one hand on the girl’s backside and the other propping itself up against the door. The girl’s cheeks were flushed prettily, and her cherry-red lipstick was smeared; no doubt it was all over Tracer’s face the same way it had been all over her cocktail glasses. Tracer leaned in and lightly kissed the girl’s neck, tracing up and down the line of her throat.

“You alright with this, love?” she asked the loaded question in a smooth but serious voice. The girl let out a happy sigh and arched her back, pressing her hips down into Tracer’s knee.

“Y-yeah…” she whispered breathily, “I’ve just…I mean like, I’ve never been with like, another chick before.”

Tracer nibbled at the girl’s hammering pulse, pressing her lips in close to disguise the fact she was rolling her eyes.

“Don’t worry love, I’ll be gentle,” she reassured.

_Fucking straight girls. C’mon, Lena, why is it always fucking straight girls!?_

 

Supporting one another, they made their way towards the bed. Tracer trod on the back of her shoe and clumsily tugged her sneakers off, while the tipsy blonde shed her little black heels with surprising ease during their staggering dance through the room. The back of Tracer’s legs hit the bed, and the woman caught two handfuls of her shirt and started pulling it up. Tracer gave in, and lifted her arms over her head, letting the baggy garment slide up and off, ruffling her hair as it went. That left her in just the stripped down chronal-accelerator, the little harness holding it over her sternum, baring her breasts. She hadn’t bothered with a bra, thanks to a combination of heat and laziness. The girl was staring at the harness, blinking in confusion. She touched a finger to a strap.

“What’s this?” she asked, not quite slurring her words together. Tracer caught the girl’s fingers and squeezed gently.

“It’s a…it’s a medical thing,” Tracer assured, not entirely eloquent herself, “Just leave it, alright love?”

The girl frowned, and looked like she was going to ask another question. Lena sighed and leaned in, covering her mouth with another fierce kiss, making the girl hum approvingly against her lips. As their tongues danced and twined eagerly, Tracer decided that she’d known worse kissers, even if the American girl’s mouth tasted like a fruity breakfast cereal. Her hands tugged at that little crop top, guiding the girl’s arms up over her head. She took the opportunity to dip her head as the blonde did so, brushing her lips ticklishly over the curve of her breasts, above the lacy black half-cups of the bra that lay beneath the top.

The skirt was next; both of their hands tangling as they fought over control of the zipper. Eventually the girl batted Tracer’s hands away, giggling, and zipped it down to expose a swathe of tanned hip. She gave Tracer a look that sent all the blood in her body rushing to her face and wiggled her hips, gyrating lewdly in a slow circle, like a stripper with an audience of one. The motion slowly slid the skirt from her hips until it fluttered almost daintily to the floor. Tracer licked dry lips and stared at the full, round curve of her partner’s backside as the girl bent down to recover the skirt, folding it up neatly and putting it aside.

“Nice thong,” she chuckled, reaching out to grope and squeeze a handful of pert ass appreciatively, drawing another gasp of pleased surprise. Her other hand reached up and unhooked the girl’s bra with one hand in a surprisingly skillful gesture. It was probably the only dexterous thing she could manage drunk.

 _Well…one of the only things,_ she thought with a grin.

Her fingers guided the bra down the girl’s arms, and down to the floor. Tracer leaned in close, pressing her breasts deliberately into the blonde’s back, her hard little nipples teasing against her while her hands slid up and around to cup and weight her partner’s own, larger chest appreciatively.

“God, these are _massive,_ ” she said, almost reverentially, “How do you _stand_ it?”

The blonde giggled again and cupped her hands over Tracer’s, squeezing down and encouraging the Brit to play with them, not that she needed much in the way of encouragement.

“Mmph, it’s not so bad with a good bra,” the girl teased, “But it’s the _stares!_ ”

“Oh, I see,” Tracer chuckled, kissing the girl’s neck as she squeezed and massaged that impressive bust, “Was I staring?”

“Not as much as I wanted you to, but yeah,” the girl replied, pressing her hips back into Tracer, “O-Oh yeah, keep doing that!”

 

Tracer obliged her, massaging and teasing the girl’s surprisingly sensitive breasts, her eyes closed as she kissed across the tanned skin of her neck. Closing her eyes had been a mistake, she decided moments later. When the girl wasn’t talking, she was just…a one-night stand. She could be anyone.

_I wonder if Widowmaker’s tits feel like this?_

She flushed guiltily and forced her eyes open. In the dark of the room, the blonde’s tanned skin was darker still. It’d be easy to imagine that the shadow held a blueish tint.

_The cat-suit. It was the fucking cat-suit’s fault. No tactical wear should look as if it were applied with spray-paint. And that fucking voice. The sultry French whisper, and the mocking smile?_

Tracer would give almost anything to see that smug face twisted in pleasure under her hands and mouth. She’d show her who was boss. Almost unconsciously, her touches became firmer, more energetic. She’d wipe that smug little smile off the Frenchwoman’s face, just-

“O-Ow, hey! Too rough!” the blonde complained, bringing her back to the present. She blinked, and saw that she had the woman’s breasts in a firm grip, and she was pinching one of the girl’s wide pink nipples. She let go and breathed out a hot sigh into the girl’s shoulder. _God, what is wrong with me?_

“Sorry love!” she hissed, soothing away any discomfort with light motions of her fingertips.

That was a bloody good question, actually. What the hell _was_ wrong with her? Why was she fantasizing about _Widowmaker_ of all people!?

_I mean, sure she’s gorgeous. And stacked. And curved fucking everywhere. And French._

_But she’s also a vicious, amoral, murderous assassin._

_Yeah, but she’s all that in a little, skin-tight purple cat-suit._

Inwardly, she cursed her lack of self-control. Being too rough and thinking of someone else besides? It was sick, and wrong, but she was almost too drunk and self-loathing to care at this point.

 _You should know better by now, Lena, spaghetti girls never like the rough stuff,_ her mind chided.

It was true. That was one of the worst things- Lena loved to play rough, at least a little, and most girls she took home were not of the same mind.

They wanted to be treated like princesses, while she wanted to treat them like whores. They wanted to be thanked for deigning to switch sides for a night.

She shook her head. That wasn’t true, and it wasn’t fair either. It wasn’t fair to either of them.

 

She pushed the girl down onto the bed, twisting her with one hand so that they ended up face to face. When they kissed again, messily, clumsily, she could still taste the over-sweet flavor of the girl’s mouth, but now she no longer really cared.

The girl didn’t really want her. She just wanted a walk on the wild side. Just for a night. They never did want her, just the ‘experience’. Like she was a fucking theme park. And she let them take a ride, despite their shallow personalities, and their clumsy attentions. They’re never going to stick around, so why bother learning how to please another woman?

She thrust her tongue into the girl’s mouth, kissing her harder. This girl at least knew how to kiss, and she used the pleasure and sensation it brought to wipe away some of the maudlin mood that the drinking had put her into. This wasn’t like her at all, this was definitely the drink talking. When they broke for air, she smiled down at her partner, looking her over with fresh eyes.

She was no Widowmaker, but she was beautiful. She looked sexy as hell down there beneath her, her blue eyes wide and soft with desire, and her blonde, curling hair spread out like a sheaf of gold across the bedspread. She had full, perfect breasts, just the way that Lena liked, and a smooth, tanned stomach that lead down to that cute little designer thong that really needed to be out of the way right about now.

 _We’re like ships passing in the night,_ her inner voice said with drunken solemnity, _neither of us is in bed with the person we really want._

She leaned down and pressed her lips to the blonde’s collarbone, nibbling down it and cupping a breast in her hand, squeezing it upwards so that she could dip to take its nipple into her mouth, provoking a pleased little moan as she did so.

_Tomorrow she’ll go back to a boyfriend she forgot to mention, or she’ll meet a nice guy with a steady job and a big dick, and she’ll forget all about me._

She suckled on that firm little nub, swirling her tongue around it roughly, pulling away with a little popping sound. Then she kept moving, kissing her way down that stomach ticklishly. The girl wound her hand into Tracer’s hair, pushing her down to the main event. She was only too happy to comply.

_And tomorrow I’ll vomit up the taste of her through my hangover, swear I’ll never drink again, and forget her name._

She reached the little black lace thong, and kissed down its front, her hands sliding up the outside edge of the blonde’s thighs, sliding up under the waistband of the underwear and stretching it out, guiding it down those long, smooth legs, baring the rest of her to view. She really was gorgeous- those gently muscled legs leading all the way up to a little patch of blonde hair, her innermost parts hidden shyly between closed thighs.

_…come to think of it, I can’t remember her name –now-._

_I’m such a fucking hypocrite._

But then she finished stripping the girl’s underwear down those disgustingly gorgeous legs, and moved swiftly on to the main event, her patience with herself exhausted. She pushed those thighs apart gently, with a quick look up at the blonde’s face. She waited a heartbeat, a long moment of lingering eye-contact that turned the girl’s cheeks pink. She gave the nearest thigh a squeeze.

“We still good?” Tracer asked lightly, turning her head to kiss the inside of one thigh, prompting another giggle in that irritating voice. In wordless answer that hand tightened in her hair, guiding her back down between the American girl’s thighs. Tracer sighed happily. She loved attention to her hair, and the girl was providing it with those caressing fingers and occasional sharp tugs and squeezes that she guessed were probably unintentional, not that it mattered to her.

And then her mouth was on her, her nose bumping clumsily against her stiff little clit before she tilted her head, planting a soft series of kisses over the girl’s exposed cunt, her tongue coming out to taste her from the soaking base of her pussy to the swollen tip of her clitoris. Her tongue found that sensitive bud and swirled around it, lapping and suckling lewdly, still nimble despite her drunken state. The girl moaned suddenly, her hand tightening in Tracer’s hair as she began to pant, grinding her hips into the motions of her tongue.

 _That’s right love,_ she thought vindictively, _I’m gonna go down on you so good you’ll touch to the memory for years to come. If you aren’t going to remember me, at least you’ll remember this._

The girl’s gasps and moans quickly gave way to full throated shrieks of ecstasy as she came apart under Tracer’s skilled tongue; Lena considering their stumbling dance to the bed enough in the way of foreplay. She abandoned any desire to tease the girl and instead took a lewd, almost predatory satisfaction in bringing her to climax in as short a time as possible. Barely had the girl’s shrieks died away, than Tracer was returning her mouth the blonde’s soaking pussy. She slowed down, the second time around, kissing her way up and down with soft, feather light touches.

“Oh fuck, a-again!?” the girl whined breathlessly, as Tracer slowly eased first one finger, then another, into her depths, the blonde’s muscles clenching down on them urgently as she began to move in a slow, building rhythm. Above the steadily rising moans, Tracer spoke.

“Yeah, again.” Tracer growled roughly, planting a firmer kiss to the girl’s swollen clit, “You just take a good grip on my hair, love, and hold the fuck on.”

The girl did so out of sheer shock more than anything, as Tracer lowered her mouth to that throbbing bud and suckled it firmly into her mouth, lapping short, powerful strokes of her tongue against it. She used the seal of her lips not only to apply a teasing suction but also to hold the sensitive nub in place, where even the girl's frantically bucking hips could not shake herself free. She came maybe half a minute later, crying out a series of curses that were as inventive as they were filthy.

Tracer didn’t bother stopping; the girl’s hand tugging in her hair was almost as powerful an aphrodisiac as her lewd moans were in her ears. She thrust her fingers in time to her tongue’s relentless assault, curling them up in a ‘come-hither’ gesture that brought her fingertips up against the most sensitive and receptive portions of her helpless victim’s inner walls.

 _Maybe I should say ‘cum’-hither,_ Tracer thought with a grin as she took a much needed breath. That gave the gasping, moaning girl maybe a second or two of recovery time before those devilishly skilled lips returned to her clit, that tongue resuming its urgent rhythm as if it had never ceased. The fingers and the tongue together, now that was cruel. Either one would have been enough to make the girl climax, especially in the sensitive post-orgasm haze she was floating in now. Putting them together was overwhelming her senses entirely, and the girl was no longer cursing. Now all she could do was squeal mindlessly over and over again as her third climax blew the others out of the water.

Her hips lifted suddenly up and off the bed, slamming into Tracer’s face and grinding urgently. She anticipated the motion, feeling the sudden tensing in the girl’s core, and her free arm came up to wrap around her hips, digging her fingertips in to hold her steady as she licked and suckled and thrust her way through the epic climax. The girl was almost as damn sweet down there as she was with her other lips, but with a pleasant tang that Tracer was enjoying much more. She lapped at the girl’s release hungrily as her fingers squished back and forth, abandoning their long, deep thrusts for slower, shallower teasing that eased the blonde through her orgasm.

And then it was over, and the hand curled into a fist in her hair, tangling in her locks and hauling her off, away from the sorely abused lower half of the blonde girl. Tracer let herself be tugged away, wiping her mouth off with the back of her hand, moving to sit up in a kneeling position. The girl’s hand fell away and she just lay there, that impressive chest heaving up and down as she panted for all the air she could reach, as if she’d just run a marathon.

“Holy…” she gasped, between breaths, “Holy fuck! I mean…holy fucking fuck!”

Tracer grinned. That was what she liked best. The compliments.

Perhaps it was a little cliché to claim that only lesbians knew how to eat pussy. But even so, Tracer was pretty sure she’d just made another personal best.

 _You just try and top that, you bastard,_ she thought, her mind imagining the fictional boyfriend her lover would end up with.

The second the thought crossed her mind, she felt an uncomfortable stab of guilt hit her. God, the drinking was making her vindictive.

 _C’mon Lena,_ she grumbled, _It’s not her fault you can’t get an actual date. It’s not her fault you picked her up. It’s not even her fault that she’s ‘straight’. You don’t even know her name!_

Rather than stew, she pushed herself lightly up off the bed and strolled over to the minibar. Ignoring the miniature bottle of wine and spirits, she liberated a bottle from a six-pack of cider she’d left there that morning, twisting the top off on her way back to the bed. She raised the bottle to her lips and chugged steadily, draining about half of the frosty amber liquid before coming up for air. She plopped her butt down on the side of the bed, next to the blonde girl’s head, and offered her the rest of the bottle.

“Oh,” she said between pants, “Thanks!”

The girl propped herself up with one elbow, and sipped at the cold drink, letting out a sigh of obvious enjoyment. Her eyes were half-lidded in a sensual expression of satisfaction while her forehead- and most of the rest of her, was beaded with sweat. Tracer watched a drop of sweat slide slowly down the curve of one of those full, round breasts and licked her lips. She was starting to sober up, at least a little, but the girl wasn’t getting any less pretty for all that.

 

“So…do you want me to…ahh…” the girl asked, giving her a nervous, albeit excited looking over. Tracer brushed a hand through her perpetually messy hair and reached down to unbutton her jeans.

“Nah, it’s cool, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” The words came easily, despite the burning heat in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t sure if she had the patience to teach ‘Muff-Diving 101’ again.

“So err…why are you taking your pants off?” the blonde asked, confused.

“Because they’re bloody tight, love, and I’m burning up over here!” Tracer said with a little more heat than she intended. The girl held up both hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Woah, what crawled up your ass and died!?”

Tracer bit back a choice phrase and shut her eyes, silently counting to ten. She reached it, blew the breath out she’d been holding, and shook her head slowly.

“I’m sorry, it’s just…I didn’t mean to bring you back here.” The admission was not an easy one to make. She wasn’t out to hurt the girl’s feelings.

_Really, this has nothing to do with her. And that’s the problem._

“You coulda fooled me, dragging me back here and throwing me into bed!” the girl said easily, without rancor, “You want me to go?”

“What!? No, no, it’s fine,” Tracer got up and shucked out of her jeans, kicking them off one leg at a time until they flopped onto the floor, “I just…I have this rule about picking up straight girls.”

“Oh? _Oh._ I get it.” The girl slumped back and finished off the cider with a long, easy pull of the bottle, “You don’t do one-night stands?”

“I…erm, well, I’m not supposed to.” Tracer flushed guiltily, “But it’s been a while and well, you were pretty and I was drunk, so…”

“Oh my god.” The girl’s face slackened into sudden realization, “Holy shit, that’s so bad!”

“What!?” Lena asked, furrowing her brows, “I know it’s not the most flattering compliment ever, but-”

“No, I mean-” the girl broke off and put the bottle aside, fixing her with a serious, if tipsy, look, “I went home with you because like, I was sick of these shallow guys always hitting on me and just, y’know, I’m like a notch on the bedpost to them or whatever, and you were so charming and interesting and, and…”

Tracer stared, her head cocked like a deer in the headlights. _What the hell is she talking about?_

“-And I just realized that I’m treating you, like, totally the same way!” the girl finished, pressing her hands to her cheeks in an almost comical expression of surprise.

“Woah, woah, hold up!” this time it was Tracer who held up her hands.

“What?” the girl asked, cutting off mid-flow. Tracer grinned weakly.

“This is getting a little heavy,” she said, “I’m gonna get another drink. Do you want one?”

The blonde gestured her approval with a lazy thumbs up. When Tracer returned from the little trek to the fridge, she found the girl flat out, her hands folded neatly behind her head on top of a pillow. She joined her, assuming the same position by her side- pausing only to twist off the caps and hand her a drink. They lay there in silence, not quite awkward, but not exactly comfortable.

“It’s not you,” Tracer said finally, “I just…I always seem to end up with straight girls.”

“Really?” the girl asked, seeming curious. Tracer nodded.

“Look…y’know when you get a…a boyfriend, I guess, and you teach him everything that gets you off?”

“Oh yeah.” The girl’s voice held a satisfying edge of remembrance to it that made Lena blush.

“Well, it’s like that. Only not usually fun. I end up attracting the girls who want a one night thing, and they…they don’t know _anything._ It kinda feels like I’m getting the rubbish end of the deal, here.”

“So what you’re saying,” the girl mused, rolling over in a way that brought her face within inches of Tracer’s, and coincidentally displayed a truly alarming amount of cleavage, “Is that you want me to get you off.”

“I…ah…” Lena said suavely, “I mean-”

“What, you don’t think I can _handle_ you?” the girl asked, and Lena felt her cheeks flush to match the heat building in her stomach. The girl’s delicate looking fingers toyed with the waistband of Lena’s boy-shorts, slipping the tip of one finger beneath them, tracing the line of her hip. Lena swallowed a mouthful of cider before she replied.

“You don’t have to do anything-”

“-I don’t want to, yeah,” the girl cut her off, finishing the sentence, “That’s not what I asked.”

Lena gasped as the girl’s hand slid further into her underwear, easing itself between her thighs. The girl’s fingers slid slowly over her lower lips, finding her almost embarrassingly wet as they parted them, gathering that moisture to slicken themselves before they slid upwards to find her clitoris.

“I asked,” the girl murmured into Lena’s ear, “If you wanted me to get you off.”

“O-Oh, _fuck!_ ” Tracer gasped, her less than dexterous hands dropping the bottle of cider over the edge of the bed. Thankfully it was mostly gone. Unfortunately that meant it had mostly gone back inside her, and she could feel the alcohol’s effects swimming through her body.

“I asked,” the girl continued, her fingers slowly circling the swollen, needy bud of Lena’s clit, “If you wanted me to make you fucking come.”

“S-Shit,” Lena mumbled, “I fucking do.” She reached her arm around the girl’s shoulders to stroke her back. The girl lowered her head from Tracer’s ear after leaving a teasing little kiss to the lobe, tracing those full, painted lips messily down the slope of one of Lena’s breasts to take a nipple into her mouth. Lena’s gasping moan was almost theatrical- so much so that the girl pulled away with a little pop.

“Really?” she asked, grinning from ear to ear. Lena blushed, the flush going all the way down her neck.

“They’re sensitive!” she grumbled, “Fuck off!”

The girl just laughed and swirled her tongue around that firm little nipple, suckling it back between her lips to another enthusiastic sound of approval from Tracer. Her hand never ceased its slow, rhythmic motion between Lena’s thighs, building up her arousal as if they had all night. With a low groan of arousal, Tracer realized that they _did._ And now the girl was kissing her way down Lena’s flat, gently muscled stomach, which quivered as she giggled at the ticklish brush of her lips, at the tongue that flicked softly across her navel.

The girl’s hands tugged awkwardly at her shorts, and Tracer lifted her hips, giving her the angle needed to pull and wiggle the thin material down her thighs. She saw them get thrown off the bed with one hand, and then the girl pushed her thighs apart. She considered just asking her to use her fingers, but given how wet she was even a complete novice _should_ be able to make her come, even if it took a while.

 

She leaned back and closed her eyes as she felt the first hot exhalation of the girl’s breath across her lips. Those plump, cherry-painted lips smeared what was left of their lipstick across her cunt as the girl kissed her, her gentle tongue slipping out to lap at her cautiously. Lena groaned as the girl bumped her nose against her clit, more or less by accident. Winding a hand into the blonde’s hair gave her some control back, and she guided the girl’s lips up to her clit, where the nervous touches of her tongue were more pleasurable than annoying.

That done, she decided to try and relax, her eyes closed, simply enjoying the slow, gentle exploration of her lower half. Almost immediately, her mind went to Widowmaker and her damn amber eyes. She groaned in sudden arousal as the girl’s tongue hit her just right, her hand tightening in the blonde’s hair. She bet that Widowmaker knew how to eat pussy. She looked like the type. And those eyes; those cold, seductive eyes that seemed to dare Lena to close with her. To run through her line of fire and tackle her to the ground. Those eyes seemed to speak to her, like a siren’s call- _if you can reach me, you can have me._

She was moving her hips now, grinding herself into the anonymous girl’s face, taking the active role seeing as the girl was so timid about it. It wasn’t as if she was disgusted, like some girls were when confronted with something Lena was all too happy to do- no, this girl just didn’t quite know what to do. So she told her, groaning out instructions in a low, rough voice between her moans.

“Harder, nngh shit, yeah just like that,” she panted, her hips coming up off the bed, “N-No, don’t stop, oh _fuck_ ,” Her pitch was rising now, like it always did when she was actually going to get off, and her vocabulary was fast going from ‘smutty’ to ‘filthy’ as she ground her soaking cunt into the girl’s face. She didn’t seem to mind, her tongue moving in a steady, firm little rhythm that brought it over Lena’s swollen clit over, and over, and over again.

Her climax was coming- no pun intended, and the motions of her body began to grow frantic and jerky. Just as the natural rhythm of her body began to falter, the girl slid two slender fingers into her without warning, parting her with almost humiliating ease. Lena came with a cry of shock and awe, a tidal wave of pleasure flowing up from the base of her hips and scalding through every languorous limb. Her muscles tightened, relaxed, tightened again, squeezing down on those thrusting digits as if she wanted them gone, wanted them deeper, wanted them to never ever stop again.

And behind her eyes, where the fireworks burst and shimmered through her wildly spazming body, she saw a pair of amber eyes, and a cruel smile twisted up in amusement. All too soon, the pulsing heat and fireworks behind her eyes came to an end. The girl’s fingers slid from her, forcing a shudder, leaving her feeling shockingly empty. Her eyes closed, she could hear the girl moving around, one hand skidding lazily across her thigh, her hip.

“So, how was my audition?” the girl whispered, nervous satisfaction radiating in her voice. Lena shook her head, trying to clear the image of Widowmaker from the post-orgasmic bliss, but unwilling to open her eyes and banish her completely.

“No complaints,” she murmured, unable to hide a smile, “You certainly did what you promised.”

The girl laughed, shaking the bed beside her, and Lena felt her punch the air in what she assumed was triumph.

“I rocked your world, huh?” she giggled, “Man, I’ve gotta wash my mouth out. Oh, no offense.”

“None taken!” Lena gestured lazily. _You rocked the bed at least. The world…maybe some other time._

She felt the weight of the bed shift as the girl rose, but her eyes staunchly refused to open. Behind them, the lingering sight of Widowmaker’s smile was equally stubborn.

 _I’ve got to get her out of my head,_ she thought, bringing one leaden hand up to cover a yawn, _or the next time I try and fight her I’m gonna be too distracted to…_

 

At some point, she must have fallen asleep. She knew that because someone had hung a forty-million mega-watt death laser in the sky and carefully aimed it to shine directly between the gap in her hotel curtains so that it could stab her in the face the moment she opened her eyes. She swore violently, and tried to roll over. Only, she had apparently slept on the wrong side of the bed last night, and thus catapulted herself onto the floor, where something slammed into the small of her back with the approximate force of a nuclear missile.

She half rolled, half slumped herself over onto one side, gasping in pain, choking out vulgarities through a mouth that felt thick and somehow _fuzzy_? Could a mouth feel _fuzzy_? Her hangover hit her a mere moment later, and the light burning into her half lidded eyes just wouldn’t let up. She started to sob, her eyes watering as her hand groped blindly for whatever had brutally interrupted her fall onto the nice soft floor. Her fingers found smooth glass, and retrieved for her inspection an empty cider bottle of dubious provenance.

_Well at least it didn’t bloody break._

She tilted it speculatively, but alas, floor-cider was not a naturally occurring resource that morning. She tossed the bottle in the vague direction of a memory of a trashcan, and heard it clatter against something noisily. For the time being, she concentrated on remembering how to breathe without a peculiarly sharp pain stabbing through her back.

Somewhere between five minutes and five years passed before she felt confident enough to trust her legs to do any serious work. She put them to the test with a little help from the bed and the nightstand, and managed to force herself more or less upright. That assured, she looked around the ruined mess that was the room, her brain assailed by thoughts of a tiny cubicle of glass that leaked wonderfully warm water. If only she had a moment free of that glaring sunlight, she’d be able to remember what it was called.

Her fingers unconsciously clenched as she stretched, a gasp tearing from her lips as she felt her back pop with a satisfying sound. She nearly wrenched the damn thing a moment later, as the fingers of her right hand curled around a strange mixture of paper and metal. She looked down, only to find a little half-sheet of the hotel’s stationary, half-crumpled atop something. The memories of the night before hit her in a rush, one after the other, but not in any kind of order; just sensation and sound, layered over one another like her own dream-like porno. She felt her face flush, despite the fact she was alone, and she became aware of a deep, satisfying weakness in her legs that in a more-sober state she would have recognized immediately for what it was.

 _Oh god, Lena, again? I thought we’d been over this,_ she chided herself as she lifted the paper, squinting down at the surprisingly neat handwriting.

 

_Hey, my flight leaves today, otherwise I’d have stuck around for breakfast. Last night was- was really great. I don’t think I’m gonna give up dudes or anything, but it really opened my eyes._

Lena rolled her eyes, almost dropping the note as she did so. _Spaghetti girls, every damn time._ But then her eyes caught the next few lines, and she paused to read them.

_If you’re ever out in California, give me a call. I’m glad we spent this night together, and I won’t ever regret it. I hope you don’t either. And…whatever you’re looking for, I hope you find it._

_Cass._

She stood there, holding the note for what felt like an hour. Outside, there was still no noise, no children playing, no tourists waking- only the sound of her slow, gentle breathing.

 _Looking for? What_ am _I looking for?_

She placed the note aside gently, her eyes moving to what had lain beneath it. It was a little pendant, a keychain made of a little stained glass bull, its mouth open to be used as a bottle opener. Just a cheap piece of tourist tat you could buy for a euro. Something to remind you that you’d been there. Her fingers closed around it, and she chuckled under her breath, searching around for her own keys before methodically and clumsily attaching the pendant to them.

Suddenly, her hangover didn’t seem so bad, the morning sun less glaring.

“Cass,” she mouthed the name speculatively, trying it out. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, and somehow too loud in the silent, empty room. She squeezed the keychain in her hand, before setting it gently on the nightstand, padding her way quietly to the shower.

“…thanks, Cass.”

The girl might just have been a one-night stand. She knew, despite the number, that she’d probably never see her again. But, strange as it sounded, she felt oddly liberated.

_What am I looking for?_

The image of Widowmaker flared briefly in her mind before she shook it away.

_Not that. Definitely not that. I am NOT that crazy._

She padded into the shower, turning the water half a degree below its hottest setting and basking in the prickling heat that bloomed across her shoulders and down her back. Nevertheless, the question pricked at her.

“I think…” she mumbled, speaking without really thinking, “I think I’m good. I think I’m done with one night stands.”

She leaned back, letting the water soak through the short, frizzy mess of her hair, and was a little shocked to find that her statement was true.

“Who would have thought that a spaghetti girl would be so instructional?” she said out-loud, running her fingers through her hair as she stepped dripping from the shower.

 

“What _am_ I looking for?” she asked herself for the fiftieth time as she finished tugging her shoes on, ready at last to face the scorching heat of the day. She pushed herself up off the bed, dusting her hands, making sure to grab her keys from the nightstand. The new addition glinted in a myriad of colors, the plastic catching the light brightly.

“I’m looking for…someone who makes me feel like this…all the time,” she said softly, the thoughts that had been slowly coalescing through her hangover finally coming together.

“I’m looking for someone who makes me feel _alive._ ”

She nodded, grinned. That settled it.

“Well, I’m not gonna find them in here!” she said cheerfully, the last of her dark mood gone. She swung open the door and headed out into the scorching Spanish heat.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I'm still (no-pun intended) Alive! I've got a lot going on in my life, but rest assured I am still writing!  
> I'm more than 2/3rds through the next chapter of Alive/Adrift, but it has a fuckton of viewpoint switches in it because muggins here decided to put all the characters on different fucking continents. Nevertheless it will be posted soon, and it will hopefully be good! 
> 
> I'm still tippable at; https://digitaltipjar.com/satsunonsavior  
> And I'm still open for commissions! See my profile for details, or send me an email at;  
> Hiroshi_Nakano@hotmail.co.uk
> 
> Thanks for putting up with me, and for any errors that are above. Comments and Subs are as always, greatly appreciated~


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